


Peafowl

by CallmeJANE



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallmeJANE/pseuds/CallmeJANE
Summary: They are magicians and they have a mission.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Peafowl

**Author's Note:**

> Translated from Spanish by Kaith Jackson and Frenchibi.

**T** he magic hit his childhood with the explosion of a light bulb, turning it into a dance of small and bright crystal particles. He was only one year old, and grown-ups took away the blanket his grandmother had woven for him, thrusting him into the harsh reality of the world.

One morning, the war spread across the front page of the newspaper.

And the second page. And all the others, too.

* * *

“I want to be a real magician, Hajime.”

He whispers it into a night filled with stars. Puberty had snatched strips of pale skin to turn it into a map of unbearable red dots. Along with other sensations – some that not even the most complicated spell had made him experience.

The clock strikes twelve, and the cold bites his skin.

If he didn’t know the phases of the moon, he would think it had vanished from the sky just like the peace from their homes - without a trace.

“I know.” He’d expected _come now, are you crazy? You won’t last five minutes as soon as you see the level in the city._ A joke, to soften the subject. Instead: “I’ve also thought about it.”

Of course, Hajime Iwaizumi would. He’s faithful to the core and wears honor like a second layer of skin. Of course he’s thought about getting ready.

“Because you want to?”

_Or because you should?_

They are forty minutes away from their homes. With the forest at their backs, and the meadow a long tablecloth that surrounds them, the only green that Tooru glimpses in the darkness are Hajime's eyes, all-encompassing and solid. Sometimes it’s as easy as looking up, discovering that your best friend is already there, attentive to any circumstance, holding your gaze. He makes him believe that everything is possible. That they will be fine in a world tinged with gunpowder. They’re touching in certain points; shoulders and arms, parts of their elbows, their forearms. From their feet to their hips. And between them, their fingers entwine.

They have held hands all their lives - if life starts in the nursery – but there has never been nervousness between them. Not like that. Sometimes Tooru’s hands will sweat, betraying him, and Tooru worries that Hajime will realize that small change. As if it would ever matter to him that Tooru’s palm is slippery – they’ve caught the flu from playing with each other’s snot.

“You want to?”

Working for the Court is not (and will never be) a walk in the park. It means sacrifice. And dedication. They have been in conflict with the neighboring country for more than six months, and their main weapon is the army of magicians. Anyone who wants to be in those ranks should know in advance that protecting the people means, to a large extent, resigning yourself to a future you may not appreciate.

“Yes.”

* * *

Endless strips of grass extend below them. Only slight specks of cloud dissipate the horizon. The airplane purrs through the sky.

“Today’s lemon chicken was especially good, don’t you think? I hope there’s some more for dinner.”

Makki tucks his uniform shirt, white and smooth as a paper, inside his pants. They have been silent since they came out of the shower, when lunch began to slide to the bottom of their stomachs and reality came afloat to snap at their throats.

Tooru understands them. He also needs to sort his thoughts and cool down before the mission.

Their first mission.

“Do you really think we'll be back for dinner?” Mattsun asks, from where he’s sitting in front of him. The hatch is right next to him. Normally his boots are tied in the least prudent way, with the laces crossed halfway and the tongue left on the outside. Today, the knot squeezes his calves, binding his ankles tightly. “Not to be dull, because I'm almost sure we're going to come back unharmed, but six hours is too optimistic even for you.”

They’ve been consolidating tactics that have worked throughout the year. They know the enchantments that they usually use in the western zone, where Lieutenant Mizoguchi has sent them, by heart. They are going to do this job well. They even know runes that protect the perimeter, in case fighter-bombers appear.

“Westhighland doesn’t have as many problems as the north,” Hajime says, trying to calm the atmosphere, while checking the pouches on his belt. He takes out two small bags: laurel and mauve, for skin inflammations and irritations. Instinctively Tooru pats his pockets, to make sure his pot with lemon balm and an aloe ointment that he saved before they left are still there. “They sent us there precisely for that reason, so stay calm.”

Rookies are sent on their first raids shortly after passing the final exams. Being part of the royal army does not consist of working inside the castle, not even in the middle of the morning. They put the royal badge on rookies and throw them into the war camps. Saying that this position isn’t conflictive is a cheap euphemism. Half of the previous reconnaissance squadron returned afflicted with leprosy, and the other half did not remember what had happened. Tooru knows that even if everyone comes back, this is not always a good thing.

“Fifteen minutes ‘til drop-off, people!” The voice of Brenan, the pilot, rings out over the fighter's engine. “Notify us as soon as you’re done.”

"It’s now or never.” Tooru leaves his seat and reaches to the upper compartment for stability. Hajime squeezes his shoulder, smiling at him, having stood up almost as fast as Tooru did. "We've been waiting for this moment for ten years." Red blood cells have inflated with adrenaline. "We're going to do it right." Tooru listens to Makki whisper to Mattsun that he would rather have stayed with her, while he knots his brown robe around his neck. The flowers of his grandmother's garden are stitched onto the fabric, blooming with feeling.

“Only you would waste this much energy on a cloak made of the entire universe,” Hajime says to Tooru, watching stars dance up and down the fabric.

For a moment, he is back at the Academy, inside the Main Building, with his first payment as a first-order magician in his pocket.

“This is Cancer, right?”

The store is so full there is barely room to breathe. Hajime knows what he wants almost at once, a smooth and elegant fabric that makes him look professional. Light and comfortable for movement. Brown, like mahogany. Tooru, of course, needs something way more impressive.

“I think it's horrible that you confuse Pisces with mine, they don’t even look alike.” They're very close. Hajime raises his fingers at the height of his hip, to point out a set of stars, without letting his eyes look anywhere except his face. Heat passes through the layers of his clothing and climbs up to his fingertips. His mouth smells like toothpaste and mockery. “That, in case you do not remember, is Mattsun's. What do you do in Astrology classes?”

“Count the moles you have on your neck.”

Hajime wants to kiss him before they come down. As a promise. They have not told their friends yet, and although they do not fear that they may react badly, it may cause an imbalance in the atmosphere because he _knows them._ They love gossiping. He licks his lips and sighs. The tissue is cottony under his fingers.

“It’s useless.”

Tooru clicks his tongue, sarcastic.

“If you payed attention, you wouldn’t fail every time you wanted to be romantic.”

“I'm not trying to-”

“Have you seen the green bag I brought? Where I put the energy runes?” Mattsun asks, after opening three compartments without finding it.

“I think it's down below, in the storage compartment.”

Makki is already standing in front of the emergency door, double-checking a list of spells that often leaves them tongue-tied.

“Seven minutes, guys!” Brenan shouts.

Anticipation has loaded the environment with nitro-glycerine, and the fuse is about to blow.

“What if I tattooed my constellation here?” Tooru shakes off his nerves and places Hajime’s palm on his heart. “So you can remember, and take me with you.”

The explosion is immediate. It leaves him speechless.

_You are always with me, idiot._

He bites the answer back, reaching for his hand. He squeezes it.

The words hang between them. And sometimes that's enough.

“C’mon, leave the couple scene for later.” Mattsun pushes them into position.

"You'll eat each other up at home," Makki says.

Hajime looks at Tooru, searching for an answer, something that’d tell him it was he who told them, but only finds chocolate-colored confusion. He shrugs, Tooru Oikawa, who has been giving him the never-ending speech of telling them at a candlelight dinner because it’s something important. And now he waves the importance away with a flick of his wrist. The abyss calls behind their backs, once the door opens. _Are you kidding me?_ He doesn’t notice the cold wind thanks to the heating spells they cast, although that does not prevent the current of air from ruffling their hair and clothes.

_Dumbass._

“What?” Makki hits Tooru's back to get his attention. Everyone is waiting for Brenan's last warning. “Got any words, Cap?”

Tooru’s face is full of determination.

“I think you've been listening to me for long enough to know that I don’t need to say anything for you to understand.”

Tooru is able to clearly express the feeling that others need to see in him. Even without the speech that he has been preparing a month in front of the bathroom mirror, with his towel wrapped around his head. Instead, he smiles and hugs them. It's a squeeze that lasts only three seconds and is worth another decade together. Projects the trust they have placed in one another, for as long as they have known each other. He nods to Mattsun, who is in front of him, and Makki squeezes his shoulder. There is no kiss, but he slides his fingers through Hajime's hair and could have sworn that he heard Hajime say that he would also want to, although there is no time left.

That relaxes him. _Later_ , he swears. Each fiber, each nerve depressurizes like a plane after landing. His muscles go cold and the plummeting that awaits them now seems like a simple step.

“Let's go.”

* * *

Hajime was not prepared to think about how chimeras used to be people. Hurting them is much worse with that knowledge. And killing them, knowing that somewhere under that mass of anger there is someone with a proper name – it breaks his heart.

No one should have the right to take the life of another. No one should have reasons. Or excuses.

The first time that the light is extinguished behind a pair of eyes in front of him, he hisses: "there has to be a less brutal way to end the conflict between our countries."

The second time, he believes it.

“I need help around here!” Mattsun shouts, raising two rocks with gusts of air. He throws them at three of these creatures, former magicians.

“I’m coming!” Tooru calls.

Makki has got rid of two of them, and is spreading a couple of traps around the perimeter.

"Try to keep them busy until I press the detonator, or I can’t call Brenan!”

The creatures had been waiting for them, even before they left the plane. Crouched in the grass, camouflaged with a glamor. Two seconds after touching the ground the shadows covered the sun as if it were an eclipse. Some more like beasts, others more like people.

Hajime tries not to count. _Eight._ But his subconscious punishes him by imagining all the families that will have to bury someone tomorrow. _Nine._ His earthly power is capable of damaging someone just by touching them, unlike the others. Tooru was not too happy to find this out. _Ten._ In hand-to-hand combat, either everything goes well or you fail.

They spent so many hours in these plains that their footsteps killed the plants and the spells left the periphery barren.

“Hajime!” he hears from somewhere behind him, as he sinks the blade of a rosemary-soaked dagger into flesh. It is so easy to slice the skin that the blade reaches bone. Slippery, hot. The monster becomes human again before falling to the ground. “We should try the link! I'm sure that would scare them away so that Brenan can touch down completely, or at least far enough to get back on the ship.”

Tooru stands in front of him, exhausted and with bloodshot eyes. His fringe, always rebellious, sticks to his wet forehead.

"You’re not hurt." Relief unclenches his muscles. "You're okay.”

It's instantaneous. The pulse of hummingbird. "And you’re here.” Hajime touches his face unconsciously, as if his hands had taken too much time avoiding him, and now he’s giving in to the attraction Tooru has always exercised over him. The protective shields give them a few extra moments to breathe and get ready. He moves unconsciously - tracing Tooru’s cheekbones, angular and pale, and letting his fingers quickly disappear behind his ears, entangling them in his hair-even if this is not the moment.

_(When is it going to be?)_

It's funny because he knows what the others expect from him. Calm. That solid and immovable rock in the ocean, the one they can cling to when everything else seems uncertain. However, now he can’t find the slightest shred of calm. Now he looks at Tooru, who has been the home he chose since he was three years old, and he finds the same uncertainty that has been running through his veins since he spoke his first spell. And that, that mutual understanding they’ve always had for each other, is more than enough for Hajime to find strength again.

“The sooner we finish this, the sooner we’ll get home.”

The smile he allows is tired, and small. Confident.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

* * *

For a moment, Tooru appreciates his surroundings in detail, as if someone was teaching him a sequence of images. Without being able to intervene, like a mere spectator.

They’re in the middle of doing the spell, Hajime behind him, and the barriers that Makki raised are cracking. Brenan is struggling to touch down without the creatures climbing onto the plane. He passes quickly, a few inches out of reach. One of them, something human (half scaly body, half reptilian face) manages to throw a sharp attack. It happens before anyone sees it. It’s aimed at them both, but the shock only hits Hajime.

“Fuck.” He falls to his knees, clutching at the crimson sash.

“Hajime.”

It smells like blood. Then anger blinds him.

“I will kill him.”

He lets his anger push him for a moment. He could do it. Break it. If he wanted, he could kill all of them at once, and the Queen would give him a medal for ridding her of half a battalion with the flick of a wrist. Deliver the head of that aberration to her feet...

“Tooru! No!” Hajime grabs his forearm and catches his gaze. His scream reverberates inside Tooru’s body like an invocation. He returns his energy to his side and ties his feet to the ground. He is still standing, the wound open and the taste of iron in his mouth.

“Just relax-” _What I was going to do?_

“I'm fine. Don’t even think about getting lost. I'm fine.” Hajime repeats it, just in case, his eyes greener than ever. His energy is heavy as a rock when he puts pressure on Tooru’s pulse. “It’s just a scratch.” They have never tried to touch while performing the spell, since it might collapse the union. They thought it would be dangerous. But now, feeling all that magic, much cleaner and more consistent, getting tangled with his own and flowing through his veins, it feels balanced.

“I'm here, it's nothing.”

But the feathers extending along the right side of Oikawa’s body are proof that he can also become a monster. They’re splayed open like a peacock’s.

* * *

“At least we got back in one piece”. Hajime is the first to mention the elephant in the room. “Though it wasn’t...”

“... what we expected, no,” Tooru completes.

The floor is covered with clothes. A path of garments that starts at the door and ends at the entrance of the shower. From there a trail of drops is drawn to the bed, where they begin and the world ends.

"I do not even know if what we're doing is right," Tooru continues, stroking Hajime’s hip carefully. The salve is beginning to heal the laceration.

“I think it's not all about good or bad, Tooru. We’ll probably always be someone's villain.”

Sometimes he is afraid of the power that’s growing inside him. Seeing Hajime wounded was more than enough to unravel him. He almost feels sympathy for the other side, those who set their conscience aside to be driven by impulses much more primal than guilt.

“This time it was worse, you know?” he admits, his voice tinged with shame. He pushes one foot between Hajime’s legs, adjusting their position. “I expected…”

_... to lose all my control._

“You didn’t.”

He cuts it before Tooru can say it, as if that could prevent it from coming true one day.

“I could, Hajime.”

There is a deep concern in the brightness of his eyes that pierces Tooru’s chest, and it hurts much more than any physical wound.

“Let's leave the subject for tomorrow, c’mon,” Hajime says, quietly, tracing the path from his ear to his temple with his nose.

“If you have any sug-”

Hajime rests his head on his arms, sighing. "You're impossible.” He presses his palm to the back of Tooru’s neck and opens his mouth slowly. All lips and “but I love you,” silencing him. Fingertips traverse the plumage that still blooms on his skin, with reverence. “I believe in you.” He slides their tongues together, warm and wet, and Tooru allows himself to forget, for a second, the fears that await them outside.

“Your wound,” he whispers against Hajime’s mouth.

Their legs and arms are entangled.

“Shut up, Tooru.”


End file.
